


Untitled Phil forces Clint to come snippet

by kitsune_kitana



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dominance, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsune_kitana/pseuds/kitsune_kitana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please, sir--" Clint gasps as Phil strokes him again, firmly, fingers twisting at the head. His muscles spasm like a live current is running through his body, but his training against torture, electric or otherwise, hasn't prepared him this. It's a razor edge between pleasure and pain, and he wants so badly to come again, to grab Phil's wrist and hold him still until Clint can fuck himself into that slick grip long enough to get off.</p><p>Might be continued. Not sure, so I'm posting what I have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Phil forces Clint to come snippet

"Agent Barton, how many times have you come now?"

Phil's hand on his cock, normally so welcome, feels like a threat. Clint can barely breathe, his heart pounding in his throat, his head.

The sheets underneath him stick wetly to his back, damp with sweat, the same way the cotton of his briefs are soaked through from the previous times Phil has brought him off this night. He knows he's leaking all over Agent Coulson's fist where it still moves slowly inside his briefs, still feeling the slide of Phil's fist up and down his shaft, and the obscene, slick sounds his wet dick is making against Phil's palm.

"Please, sir--" Clint gasps as Phil strokes him again, firmly, fingers twisting at the head. His muscles spasm like a live current is running through his body, but his training against torture, electric or otherwise, hasn't prepared him this. It's a razor edge between pleasure and pain, and he wants so badly to come again, to grab Phil's wrist and hold him still until Clint can fuck himself into that slick grip long enough to get off. But his balls ache, and Phil's hand moving on his dick so soon after he's come fucking hurts. The room smells like sex, even tastes of it where Phil had swiped his fingers across Clint's open, panting mouth earlier.

"Two times, sir," he chokes out, mortified as his hips thrust uselessly into the air even after Phil pulls his hand away. He feels used and wet, whimpering as Phil's other hand rubs down his thigh then up to his chest, pushing him back against the mattress and out of the protective curl Clint's trying to make around his overstimulated cock. When they play, Clint reminds himself, Phil doesn't like for him to cover himself up, wants Clint to keep himself open and vulnerable for Phil's eyes and his hands and his dick.

As if to bring this point home, Phil shifts and pins Clint down, one knee on either thigh to keep him spread open. Clint knows he can free himself; in the back of his mind, he's already thought through how he'd shift his weight, use the torque to throw Phil off his center of gravity. One or two blows to Phil's kidneys would give him just enough time to roll onto the floor and run. Instead, he lets Phil reach down and hook the waistband of his briefs underneath his balls, pulling Clint's head up by his hair off the pillow and into an angle that forces him to look at his red, dripping dick arching towards his belly. It's more humiliating to see his cock framed by cotton darkened in places by his own come, balls drawn up tightly against his body, than to just be naked and spread. He can see his chest, heaving for breath, his cock bobbing along with it, leaving sticky trails on the skin of his lower belly.

"You're wet like a girl," Phil tells him, his voice rough. He jacks Clint perfunctorily again, pleasure from his cock clawing up his spine like shards of glass, until Clint's bucking threatens to unseat him. "Tell me how wet you are," Phil orders, massaging his palm against the bundle of nerves right below the head of Clint's dick in way that makes Clint's want to recoil bodily away from him and rock forward into him at the same time.

"I'm so wet, sir," he cries out, hips digging back into the mattress, moving as far as he can from Phil's relentless hand. "Please stop, sir. I can't do this--"

Phil shushes him, hand in his hair maneuvering his mouth to Phil's wet palm, and Clint understands the implicit order. It's a little unpleasant as he licks Phil's hand clean, sweat and lube and come smearing against his face as he licks along Phil's skin and between each finger. As Clint works, Phil's other hand drops to roll an exposed nipple, gathering the flesh with the pads of his fingers and pinching the sensitive tip. He laughs, low and possessive, at each shudder that ripples across Clint's body as Clint struggles to simultaneously catch his breath and obligingly arch his back to push his chest forward.

"Please," Clint whispers, mouth shining, when Phil pulls his hand away. He wonders if he should be bold, if Phil would be pleased if he moved his hands up to pull at his own oversensitive flesh. But Phil had tucked Clint's hands underneath him earlier, into the small of his back before they began, and it's hard for him to convince himself move where Phil hadn't ordered. He's been trying so hard to be good, and Phil knows it, rewards him for his submission by pushing his other thumb into Clint's gasping mouth to wet it before rubbing the digit firmly across his erect nipples over and over again. 

"Do you think you can give me one more?" Phil asks, face serious, his hand circling Clint firmly at the base of his dick before stilling.

Clint clenches his eyes shut, every muscle tense. "Please, sir," he begs hoarsely, insensate. "I can't--sir, please." 

"You can." Phil's voice is implacable, even as shudders fight their way up and down Clint's spine, every nerve in his body screaming against it. 

Phil rests his hand against Clint's chest, where his heart pounding frantically just under the skin.


End file.
